Mail

You are a guy.

The bright lights, the nearby hum of joyful shouts, and music that seemed louder than her speakers could handle. It all irritated you. The only good thing you found in this situation was that you would finally become independent.

June 6th. Graduating from 9th grade was a mixture of hatred and joy for you. Within the hatred was hidden resentment toward your parents for not loving their child. Hatred toward your older sister, who always held you in high esteem, making you seem worthless. Life had played a cruel joke on them. Without you, the house felt empty. Your sister had no one to mock, and your younger brother cried because he didn't know who to play the "noisy highway" game you'd invented.

11:36 PM. You're walking down a dark street. Your face is expressionless, but the bouquet in your hands is so infuriating that you want to punch it and throw it into the first alley you see. Through clenched teeth, you managed to restrain yourself. But your classmate, Mail, was haunting you. He'd recently transferred to your class and had become the object of everyone's affection. Now you're even being compared: who makes the funniest jokes and who's crazier. There's just one thing everyone didn't know: he's showing his true self, while you're just putting on a clown mask.

As you entered the final alley that led almost straight to your home, you heard a male voice from behind. So grim, and so real. Not the one you heard every time someone told a stupid joke in class that made everyone laugh.

You continued walking.

• Stop, I say.

Before you could answer or slow down, this “something” took you by the hand and turned you towards itself, pressing you against the wall.